


See What a Penny Will Get Ya

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universes, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 02:20:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/792933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In this corner you have Jim, sentinel extraordinaire, spending an afternoon getting organized. In the other corner you have Blair, partner to said sentinel, wanting to spend the day relaxing. Who do you think wins the ultimate battle of wills?</p>
            </blockquote>





	See What a Penny Will Get Ya

## See What a Penny Will Get Ya

by Vikster

Author's webpage: <http://www.squidge.org/~theforest/vickster/vickster.html>

Author's disclaimer: Jim and Blair belong to Pet Fly, UPN (although they don't deserve them), Paramount and who knows maybe even the SciFi Channel. No money exchanged hands. If you sue you become proud owners of my zine collection, my car payments and a very shy cat. If you're not 18, please go home. If you don't like the idea of two men loving each other then why did you click on this link in the first place. Go away. 

Author Notes: A tour through the loft last fall inspired one of the key scenes in this story (I'll leave it to your imagination to guess which one <grin>). Many thanks to Susan and Jo, two wonderful betas. Man, did they earn their keep on this one. Any remaining errors you find are my own. 

Feedback is greatly appreciated. Email me at vikster@mediaone.net 

* * *

See What a Penny Can Get Ya  
By Vikster 

"Here, take this, man." 

Jim looked up just as Blair tossed a penny in his direction. He caught the coin and placed it next to the stack of papers on the table. The younger man leaned against the kitchen counter, blue eyes staring at him intently, a frown marring his face. 

"I'm touched, Chief," Jim said. "I've had my eye on this yacht...." 

"That's a funny one, Jim." Pushing himself away from the counter, Blair sat at the table. "You've been looking for that damn penny for two hours now. Give it up, man." 

Blair was right. For two hours, Jim had sat at the dining room table sorting through stacks of papers and receipts. Two long and incredibly boring hours. But he couldn't quit. To quit meant losing the latest contest of wills between himself and his partner turned lover. Blair wanted to spend time playing in the afternoon sun. Jim wanted to complete the many tasks and chores that had accumulated over the last few weeks. Jim had won, but now he was tired and his muscles ached from sitting in one position for so long. 

Jim sighed. "We've already had this conversation." 

"No. You've had this conversation. Me, I'm watching you go insane over a penny." 

Leaning back in his chair, Jim folded his arms across his chest. "Okay, I'll bite. When was the last time you balanced your checkbook?" 

"Never bothered." Blair waved his hands dismissively. 

Shaking his head in confusion, Jim stared at him for a moment. "How do you know how much money you have in your account?" 

"I've got the perfect system," Blair said in his best lecture voice. "Every time I deposit a check, I make believe that's all the money I have in the account. Then, as I write checks, I round up to the nearest five dollars. Bingo, more than enough money." 

"Do you know, Mr. Drysdale, that you are one step away from financial ruin?" 

"Jim, I've been a college student for an entire decade. Me and financial ruin go out for drinks on Friday nights." Blair tucked an errant curl behind his ear and sighed. "Come on, man. Write it off. Let's go shoot hoops or something. I'll even spot you a few points." 

"No, Chief. I can't. Between our recent caseload and you--" 

"Me? What the hell have I done?" 

"Let me finish. You're great. We're great. All I'm saying is that since we..." Jim paused for a moment, searching for the appropriate words. 

"Started boffing like bunnies?" Blair offered innocently. 

"It's called making love, Sandburg." 

"Whatever, Ellison." 

"All I'm trying to say here is that I need to take some time and get organized." 

"Jim, you were born organized. Besides, it's just a fucking penny." 

"Please, Chief. Go watch TV or surf the web. Something. Just let me finish this. Okay?" 

Hoping that Blair would get the hint, Jim looked down at the stack of papers on the table and started entering numbers in the calculator. 

He heard Blair sigh and push himself away from the table. From the corner of his eye he watched the young man walk into the kitchen, grab himself a beer and stroll into the living room. Blair flung himself onto the sofa and picked up the remote control. Click. Laughter. Click. Animal roar. Click. Guy talking. Click. Music. 

Jim glared at his roommate-turned-irritant. "Little passive-aggressive there, aren't ya, Chief?" 

Placing the remote on his lap to free his left hand, Blair raised his fist in Jim's direction and extended his middle finger. 

Chuckling softly, Jim sorted the receipts for March. 

"Hey, Jim?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Alan Greenspan is on Larry King. You want me to call the show? Maybe he could give you some pointers." 

Trying to hide his smile, Jim cupped his hands over his face and sighed loudly. Resigning himself to losing yet another contest of wills, he looked up to see his partner grinning. Grinning like the proverbial Cheshire cat. That little shit. 

"I'm going to finish this upstairs." Jim scooped up his receipts, bank statements, and calculator. Halfway up the loft stairs, he turned and glared at his lover. "Don't come up." 

"Don't come up," Blair muttered under his breath as he stretched out on the sofa. "Great. I get stuck with an Adonis with five heightened senses and no sense of humor." 

"I heard that, Chief," Jim shouted over the railing. 

"No. Really?" 

Ignoring the comment, Jim placed the receipts, bank statements and cancelled checks on the blue comforter, sorting the items by month. He picked up the April receipts, and sat down at the small desk. Checking a few totals on the bank statement, he began entering numbers in the calculator. 

Halfway through the month, he heard the thud of rubber soles hitting the hardwood floor. Must be Blair's sneakers, he thought, subtracting two more checks from the total. 

Four checks later he heard the metal on metal sound of a zipper, followed by the sound of denim moving across flesh. Jim looked over the railing. A stream of sunlight filtered through the window, encasing his lover in a yellow glow. The sight left him breathless and the lust he felt for this beautiful man pounded through his veins. 

Blair, wearing nothing more than his shirt and his boxer shorts, looked up and smiled. "Something you need, Jim?" 

"No, I'm good. I thought I heard something. Sorry for bothering you." 

"Whatever you say, Jim." 

Taking a few calming breaths, Jim scooped up the May receipts and sat back down at the desk. 

A musky scent that he associated with Blair's arousal circled his head and trickled up his nostrils. He slid his dial up a notch or two, savoring the scent. 

Shifting uncomfortably in the chair, Jim craned his neck in an attempt to see Blair through the railing. His eyes were drawn to Blair's hands. Strong fingertips were gently caressing the rim just beneath the purple head of his cock. His hands lowered to the base of the shaft, his fingertips on one side and his thumb on the other. Squeezing gently, he ran his right hand up and down the shaft, his thumb taking a moment to caress the head. 

A bolt of electricity tingled down Jim's body. Trying to get a better look, he climbed onto the bed. Receipts and banks statements crinkled under his knees; a few slid off the bed and landed on the floor. Leaning his upper torso against the railing, Jim unzipped his fly. His left hand separated the material as his right hand reached in and fisted his cock. 

Now, his view of Blair unobstructed, he watched as his lover stroked the underside of his shaft, his thumbs alternating between rubbing the head and tracing the rim with his thumbnail. As if on autopilot, Jim's hands did the same. They traced the line from the head of his cock to the base, then squeezed gently. 

Jim dialed up his sight to watch a drop of Blair's pre-ejaculate, glistening in the afternoon sun, drip from the head. He closed his eyes and dialed up smell to savor the salty musk. 

"Oh my God. Jim, " Blair moaned. Jim opened his eyes to feast on his lover below. 

Blair's right hand squeezed and released the base of his shaft. His left hand scratched and rolled the sacks underneath. He cupped his hands under his cock and squeezed. Closing his fists around the rod, he pulled from base to head. Once. Twice. Over and over. 

Growling deep in his throat, his hips bouncing off the metal rail, Jim too established the base to head rhythm. His knuckles scraped against the metal, but he was too busy watching the sweat fall from Blair's face to care. Base to head. Harder and faster. 

Jim threw his head back and closed his eyes. His body trembled with need. 

"I'm gonna cum, Jim. Just for you." 

The need to watch outweighing everything else, Jim opened his eyes and froze. Blair's feet were propped against the sofa cushion, his hips raised in the air. Seed spurted from his engorged rod, splattering his hands and the back of the blue sofa. 

Jim's leg and ass muscles tightened and his hips surged forward. Cum exploded from his cock and spilled onto the bed and the railing. His upper body collapsed against the railing as he struggled to regain his breath. 

His leg muscles trembled. Jim pushed himself away from the railing and stepped onto the floor, careful to not disrupt any more stacks of paper. He wiggled out of his jeans and tossed them in the laundry basket in the corner. 

Eyeing a stack of receipts that had fallen to the floor, Jim knelt down to pick them up. "Ah, shit." 

"You okay?" a disembodied voice asked from the living room below. 

Jim leaned over the railing, holding a stack of rumpled and wet receipts in his hands. "I creamed June." 

The end 

Please let me know what you think. My email address is: vikster@mediaone.net 


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